


Indefinitely Falling

by AWriting



Category: Captain America (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Angry Kissing, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Bucky Barnes Feels, Bucky Barnes Needs a Hug, Canon-Typical Violence, Captain America: The Winter Soldier Compliant, Clint Needs a Hug, Deaf Clint Barton, Eventual Smut, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M, Panic Attacks, Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Road Trips, Slow Burn, So much angst, winterhawk - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-12-09
Updated: 2016-01-05
Packaged: 2018-05-05 19:24:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,115
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5387447
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AWriting/pseuds/AWriting
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There were a lot of reasons why he should say no and let Barton go on his way. The archer shrugged when Bucky didn't respond and opened the door to the car, turning the keys and revving the engine.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was going to wait a little longer to start posting this, but I couldn't. I'm too excited about it.  
> The plan is to update every Tuesday or Wednesday.  
> 

Bucky examined a patch of green mold growing on the wall of the parking garage under Avengers tower. It had steadily gotten bigger since Bucky arrived a few months before and it was comforting to him. He may be stuck in a perpetual cycle of violence and depression and debilitating panic attacks, but at least something in the tower was thriving. The green and gray fungi spreading at a consistent rate in the damp, dark garage.

Steve had caught him down here watching it a few times when he had lost track of how long he had stood there. Time didn't really seem to matter to Bucky anymore. In the remote corner of the garage, underground and only dimly lit, Bucky could pretend he existed outside of time. That seventy years hadn't passed and he could walk outside and it'd be 1940 again. Or maybe even 1935, before the war when he spent nights out with a girl on each arm and got drunk on music and perfume and laughter. His ma always used to say that the depression never seemed to weigh on Bucky like it did other people. She said Bucky was the best worker she had ever seen but he was also the best carouser to ever grace Brooklyn's haunted alleyways.

But thinking about his ma hurt and seeing the disappointed look on Steve's face every time he caught Bucky hiding down here hurt, so Bucky turned on his heel and headed back through the garage.

He was getting close to the elevator when it chimed loudly in the quiet. Bucky flinched. The doors opened and Barton stepped out, a duffle bag thrown over his shoulder and a manic look in his eye. The archer had a set of keys in his hand and he pressed the button, looking around for the corresponding car. His jaw was set in a determined manner and his eyes skirted around the garage haphazardly. It did little to abate the slightly crazed aura he was giving off.

A fancy black sedan beeped to Bucky's right and he flinched at the unexpected noise. It was one of Tony's cars, Bucky knew. This was the Avengers only section of the garage which meant the Tony's cars and Steve's bike section of the garage. Barton nodded to Bucky before making his way to the car.

"Where are you going?" Bucky blurted before he could stop himself. He didn't make it a habit to push himself into other people's business, but the archer was acting weird and curiosity got the better of him.

"I don't know," Barton said and stopped to look back at him, the manic glint only becoming more pronounced as a deviant smile spread across his face. He cocked his head to the side and seemed to evaluate Bucky critically. "Wanna come?"

Bucky wasn't allowed to go anywhere. He was under "tower arrest", as Barton himself liked to call it. The truth of the matter was that he--or the Winter Soldier. Steve liked to make the distinction--was under investigation by every government agency in the country and a few in other countries as well. The only reason he wasn't locked up and tied down in a cell was because the Avengers had agreed to take responsibility for him. In fact, there was a big hearing coming up in about two weeks. One of the fluorescent lights flickered to Bucky's left.

There were a lot of reasons why he should say no and let Barton go on his way. The archer shrugged when Bucky didn't respond and opened the door to the car, turning the keys and revving the engine.

There were a lot of days where Bucky found himself doing things without thinking about it. Like he wasn't in control of his own body, like his mind wasn't his own. Muscle memory or defense mechanisms or whatever they were. This was not one of those times. Bucky knew exactly what he was doing as his feet carried him to the car, as his metal fingers curved around the handle of the car door and pulled, as he dropped into the leather seat in one graceful move and shut the door definitively. Barton grinned that crazed grin again and hit the gas.

Bucky pulled out his phone, the one he had thought he really didn't need despite Tony's insistence, shooting a text to Steve. "With Barton. Will call later."

Then he turned the phone off.

Barton pulled out onto the road. It was officially fall in New York and this used to be Bucky's favorite time of year. Still warm during the days, but with a chill setting in at night. Bucky rarely noticed things like heat or cold anymore. One of the many things that made him feel less than human.

"Stark know you took his car?"

"That _w_ e took his car, you mean?" Barton winked at him.

He was going to take that as a no. They passed a small, corner park. A few red and yellow leaves drifted to the ground. Bucky wondered if the twinge in his chest as he watched them was jealousy or disappointment that they weren't able to hold on longer.

Barton transformed once the city finally started disappearing behind them. It was like meeting a whole new person. Bucky quickly had to accept that nothing about the Barton he had been watching over the last few months was the real Barton. The archer's shoulders dropped, he leaned back in his seat casually, he drummed his fingers on the steering wheel, and the smile on his face morphed into the picture of relief. A thick mask that Bucky didn't know the other man had been wearing fell away in bits and pieces. The shine going out of the archer's eyes, dark circles under his eyes seeming to grow more prominent with every passing mile. Bucky wasn't used to being taken off guard and he found himself studying Barton for more changes.

When Bucky had been told about Hawkeye, master assassin, deadly sniper, best friend to the Black Widow, the man he had been introduced to with the bouncing energy, bad jokes, and shit-eating grin was the farthest thing from what he had expected. Everyone hinted constantly at some dark part of Barton's recent past but it hadn't shown at all in the Barton that traversed the tower from day to day and hid in the rafters and regularly burned popcorn.

But as the archer talked about nothing in particular a mile a minute, sang along loudly with the songs on the radio, the soulful tone a pleasant surprise for Bucky, and grinned like all his problems were behind him despite the fact that a haunted look was stealing over his eyes, it became apparent that Barton was better at hiding things than Bucky had expected. Bucky began to wonder if anything he had seen Barton do had been genuine or if everything was just a part of the farcical show put on by the tower's inhabitants.

"You don't talk much, Barnes."

Bucky shrugged.

The truth was that Bucky had seen Barton as some sort of...success story, he guessed. The man supposedly had this dark, depressing past, but had overcome it. Or at least Bucky thought he had. It seemed to not affect him at all anymore. Bucky had watched the archer carefully, constantly, as if the key to his own recovery was locked away somewhere in Barton's laugh or snark. But if Barton didn't have his shit together, if he hadn't managed to drag himself out of the depths, what chance did Bucky have?

So seeing this new side to Barton was causing a reaction in Bucky he hadn't expected. He was angry. The illusion was shattered and made him want to grab Barton by the shoulders and shake him. Or maybe get down on his knees and beg the guy to go back, to take it back, to be the success story he thought Barton was. He needed Barton to be that.

Barton must have felt his scrutiny because he glanced at Bucky and said, "It just gets under your skin, you know? The tower."

Bucky blinked in surprised. He did know. He thought he was the only one who knew. 

"Hey, look." Barton pointed out the window. "Deer!"

Bucky looked. They stood just to the side of the road by the tree line as the car whipped past. Not even flinching at the humanity encroaching on their world anymore. They were so still, Bucky could've taken them all out in the time it took the car to pass.

They ate dinner and bought Bucky some clothes, since Clint hadn't exactly given him a chance to pack anything, in Pittsburgh. Clint put it all on the credit card Tony had given everyone. Everyone except Bucky. Bucky wasn't supposed to leave the tower so he didn't need one. Steve was definitely going to yell at him.

They drove for a few more hours after Pittsburgh. The night was quiet. Barton didn't turn back on the radio and he seemed to have reached his limit on words for the day. It was relaxing. Bucky felt more at ease, if that’s what this feeling was, than he had in...well, a really long time. His bones seemed to sit easier in his body, his fingers stopped twitching, and his eyes settled into the strip of road illuminated by the headlights.

The motel they finally stopped at just inside the Ohio state line wasn't exactly Avengers tower in terms of luxury, but it would do for the two of them. Clint ran across the street to the gas station for some beer and that's when Bucky turned back on his phone.

It rang immediately.

"Where the hell are you?" Steve growled into the phone.

"Ohio."

"Are you serious right now, Buck? You're not even supposed to leave the tower! Where are you even going?"

"I don't know."

"You don't...” Steve took a few deep breaths that Bucky could hear through the phone. “You need to get your ass back here now. We're trying to keep you from getting thrown in jail, Buck. And you just take off? This is absolutely unacceptable. You and Barton need to get in that goddamn car and drive back now, you hear me?"

Bucky was silent as Steve continued to rant. He had been expecting this. Steve's disappointment rolled over him in waves, but he couldn't find it in himself to regret leaving. Maybe he would later. Maybe this would be the last straw for the people trying to put him away.

But he had figured out what he had been feeling in the car when he finally settled down. He felt free. And he wouldn't give that up for anything now. Especially because he knew it could be taken away from him for good at any moment. He would savor it while it lasted.

The lock scraped as it turned in the door and Bucky's hand instinctively went to the gun tucked under the waistband of his pants. But when the door opened it was just Barton, six pack in hand. The archer nodded when he saw Bucky on the phone. Bucky's eyes followed him around the room.

"We're good here, Steve. You don't gotta worry," Bucky said, cutting off Steve's monologue.

"Jesus, Buck, of course I'm gonna worry..."

"Tell Stark I'll make sure the car gets back in one piece."

Barton rolled his eyes and used the edge of a table to pop the top off one of the beers before tossing another one to Bucky.

Steve was still talking. Bucky could imagine clearly the way the skin around his eyes was tightening and his cheeks were turning red. Things like that hadn't changed even in seventy years. Bucky hung up without saying another word and switched the phone back off.

"Shouldn't have even turned it on, man." Barton smirked at him, leaning back against the table, and took a long gulp from his beer. "I coulda told you that was gonna happen."

Bucky shrugged and used his metal arm to pull the top off his own beer.

"They coming to find us?"

"Don't think so." Bucky watched the relieved grin split Barton's face again.

"Might as well get comfortable then." Barton flopped down on the bed closest to the window and started flipping through channels on the TV.

Somewhere after his second beer and third sitcom in a row, Bucky fell asleep.  He woke hours later to the TV turned down low and muffled shouts and groans coming from the bed next to him.

"Barton," Bucky hissed. "Wake up."

The archer didn't answer. Bucky sat up, debating walking over. "Barton. Clint."

That's when he saw Barton's hearing aids on the table between the beds. So there was no point to trying to wake the guy by talking. He wasn't sure what sort of reaction reaching over and shaking the guy would get either. But the desperate sounds were getting worse and he could see Barton's muscles clenching, his fingers digging into the sheets. The archer was laying on his back, but his face was turned away from Bucky and he really hoped it stayed that way. He had no desire to see the terror the sounds implied would be written on Barton's face.

Bucky looked around quickly before picking up a small, hotel-issued pad of paper from the table and lobbed it at the sleeping man. It slapped directly into Barton's stomach. In the blink of an eye, the archer was sitting up with a gun in his hand, which seemed to appear out of nowhere, pointed directly at Bucky's head.

Bucky's instincts told him to reach out and crack every delicate bone in Barton's hand. Instead, he slowly lifted his hands in an attempt to show he didn't pose a threat. Not an intentional one anyway.

"Shit," Barton let out in a strangled groan, dropping the gun back on the bed and pulling his knees up to his chest so the blanket that had been covering him pooled at his ankles. He rubbed at his eyes with his hands. His heavy breathing seemed to be the only sound in the world for a few moments. Bucky watched him warily. He had no idea what the fuck he was supposed to do in this situation.

"Shit," the archer repeated, standing in one fluid motion, grabbing the pack of cigarettes from the table, and exiting the motel room.

He left the door open and Bucky watched as he leaned against the railing, the parking lot lights reflecting off the sweat that had gathered on his neck during the nightmare. Bucky watched as nimble fingers placed a cigarette between chapped lips, flicked on the lighter, and cupped around the small flame to block it from the chilly night air. Barton took a long drag.

Bucky’s feet moved him until he stood next to Barton at the railing. The archer didn't acknowledge Bucky except by handing the cigarette over. Bucky placed it to his lips and sucked some of the warmth from it, letting it fill his hollow chest before pushing it back out in a gray cloud.

"Guess you really can't run from your problems, huh?" Barton said, taking the cigarette back.

Bucky debated saying something back but didn't know what. What was he doing here if not running from his own problems? All he knew was that this man wasn't anything like he had thought. But he couldn't say that.

He was saved from saying anything when he realized that Barton hadn't put his aids back in so he wouldn't be able to hear any feeble attempt at comfort Bucky could come up with. Instead, he reached for the cigarette again, plucking it straight from Barton’s lips.

Neither of them said anything else that night, but they smoked the whole pack before sunrise, sharing one cigarette at a time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wouldn't say this fic was inspired by sara_holmes' I'll Keep You Safe Here With Me, but I would say it's not entirely a coincidence that I started writing a road trip fic after rereading her fic a little while back. But the stories don't really have that much in common beyond being angsty Winterhawk road trips.  
> I would say that this fic is heavily inspired by the song Stolen Black Cars by Duncan Fellows. By which I mean I listened to it on repeat while writing. The song title comes from it and I steal a few lyrics for dialogue at different parts of the story.  
> Also, I take some liberties with Hawkeye's backstory in this fic to fit where I wanted the story to go. It's not full MCU or really full anything else, either. Sorry not sorry.  
> Thanks for reading, dears! Feedback is always appreciated!


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is pretty much as fluffy as it's going to get for a while. If you can even call this fluffy.  
> I've never been to Chicago, fyi. So I'm working based on what everybody talks about when they go.  
> Unbeta'd. All mistakes are my own.  
> Enjoy!

"If we hurry, we could be in Chicago by lunch," was all Barton said before they packed up the car the next day. Barton was different that day. Much more subdued. The incessant chatting from the day before had wound down to almost nothing. As annoyed as Bucky had been with it the day before, Barton's quiet contemplation got under Bucky’s skin. It felt wrong and he wondered if there was a way to get Barton back to the way he was.

Music was playing but the archer seemed to not even register it, even when the station became only constant static and filled the car with nothing but white noise. His blue eyes were miles away. He flinched when Bucky reached over to turn the radio off when he decided he couldn't take anymore.

Barton's hands tightened on the steering wheel, his knuckles turning white, and his eyes cut over to Bucky for a moment before settling back on the road.

"Ask me a question," he said suddenly.

Bucky blinked. He didn't understand. "What?"

Barton huffed in frustration but there was something dangerous edging into his voice. As if he was barely holding on. "Ask me a question. Like...like... Goddammit. If you had a dog, what would you name it?"

"A dog?" Bucky watched him, an openly incredulous expression on his face.

"Yeah, a fucking dog. Just ask me."

"If you had a dog, what would you name it?"

"Probably Lucky or some shit like that." Clint was practically glaring at the road in front of him. His shoulders tense. Bucky was more confused than ever. "It's something my therapist taught me. Gotta make yourself make decisions. Even little ones. Red or orange?"

Bucky still didn't really understand, but he said, "Red, I guess. You?"

"Yeah, red for me too."

"Dogs or cats?" Bucky asked hesitantly, but he was more than willing to try to help if it would break the weird mood that had settled in the car.

"Dogs, definitely." Barton looked at Bucky from the corner of his eye. "You?"

Bucky shrugged and he looked out the window to avoid Barton’s eyes. He didn't know. He didn't know what he liked. "I don't know."

"Nah, man." Barton said. "You're missing the point. You gotta decide for yourself. You gotta pick one."

Bucky took a deep breath, digging his flesh hand into his pants leg to stop the slight shaking that had started with the questioning. "Dogs, then. B-but I've never been around cats much from what I remember so maybe I'd like them too."

Barton smiled at him and Bucky felt a rush of relief. He had, apparently, done something right. It felt good. And he noticed that Barton's hands had loosened on the steering wheel.

"Books or movies?"

The rest of the drive passed quickly with them taking turns asking questions. It was hard at times, to force himself to answer the questions. He'd gone so long being told everything, not having options that sometimes even the smallest decisions sent him into a panic. Even since his deprogramming, Steve made most of his decisions and Bucky let him. But he found the longer they played the question game, the easier it was and the more he relaxed.

Apparently the same was true for Barton because before long, he was telling stories that the questions reminded him of and smiling easier. A real smile. The smile Bucky had only been able to see for the last two days and felt himself growing attached to.  That was probably bad. He shouldn't get attached to anything. He'd basically purchased his one way ticket to the most high security jail in the world with this little foray into the countryside. Not much smiling in his future.

They got into Chicago just in time for lunch, as Barton had predicted.

"Ever had Chicago deep dish?" Barton asked as they drove in, the skyline rising up high in front of them.

Bucky shook his head. He'd been all over Europe during the war, but had never made it to Chicago. Well, maybe as the Winter Soldier, but his handlers had never made it a priority to make sure their weapon sampled the local cuisine.

They checked into a fancy hotel downtown. When Bucky suggested that they didn't need to stay somewhere so nice, Barton waved him off, explaining that he'd gotten a text from Tony when he'd turned his phone back on that morning saying that if they were going to use Tony's money, they should at least stay places that Tony wouldn’t be embarrassed to see on his bill.

They asked at the concierge desk about pizza places and were directed to one just a few blocks away. Just a little hole in the wall place that promised plenty of grease and tastiness. Walking there was an experience. He didn't feel the chill that Barton complained about but the wind hit him full in the face. By the time they got to the pizza place, his hair was all over the place, what had previously been a messy bun having almost completely fallen out.

"What'll it be?" Barton asked him.

He was surprised to find that he was almost immediately able to choose to stick with pepperoni. He figured he shouldn't go too fancy for his first time. Barton beamed at him and he found that the corners of his mouth tipped upward too. It was amazing how deciding something as simple as a pizza topping could be such a big deal. And the weird thing was that he felt like Barton understood how big of deal it was. He had been the one to start the question game after all. But how could he possibly understand?

Once they had their food and sat down, Barton asked, "donuts or bagels?"

Bucky hesitated. "You ever had a Czech kolache?"

Clint's eyes went comically big. "You're right. Those are better."

Bucky felt his lips turn up again and Barton smiled back at him. Something tightened in Bucky's chest and he had to take a deep breath, pulling his eyes deliberately away from the archer and down to his pizza.

"We should go out tonight," Barton said a few minutes later.

Bucky quirked an eyebrow at him as he chewed.

"Yeah," Barton said, warming to his idea. "Let's go dancing. Don't all the history books talk about how much Bucky Barnes liked to dance? You been since you've been back?"

Bucky shook his head. Barton seemed to be forgetting that him being out of the tower at all was an anomaly.

"Let's do it." Barton nodded firmly, making a decision. "It'll be fun."

Bucky shrugged and nodded. He might not ever get another chance so why not? And if he partially just agreed to see Barton smile again, he'd never tell.

Once they finished eating and Bucky confirmed that New York pizza was definitely superior to Chicago pizza, they stopped by a department store to buy Bucky something clubbing appropriate. Barton forced him into a pair of jeans that hugged his hips in weird ways and a black henley that Bucky thought was definitely too small, but Barton said was just right. The archer wolf whistled when Bucky came out of the dressing room and brought over several female employees to assure him that he looked great. Bucky didn't tell Barton that he hadn't needed anymore assurance after finding out that the archer thought he looked good. Bucky pushed those thoughts to the back of his mind. He would analyze them later. Or maybe never.

They went to the Willis Tower (though Barton kept calling it the Sear Tower for some reason) and spent too much time on the skydeck, both snipers way more excited about the perch than they would admit.

They took a picture at the Bean and sent it to the team. Natasha sent back a video of Steve and Tony bickering with Sam waving in the background. Bucky had laughed at that and Barton froze, looking up at him in surprise. He felt a blush creep up his cheeks and looked away.

"You should laugh more," Barton finally said, his voice weirdly hoarse.

After a bit more exploring, they headed back to their hotel to get ready for their night out. Bucky showered and shaved, debating for a minute before deciding to just pull his hair back like usual. A few strands hung loose around his face but he figured it was good enough. After pulling on the clothes they'd bought for him, he went back out into the main part of the suite.

Barton looked up when Bucky walked in, his eyes sweeping over Bucky analytically. His tongue darted out to wet his lower lip before he said, "you clean up good, Barnes."

Bucky, for his part, felt like his chest was collapsing and his throat was closing up. Barton was standing in the middle of the room in a pair of dangerously low riding jeans and no shirt. Bucky knew the guy was well-built. It was obvious. And he’d even admired Barton's arms before while the archer was shooting. But Bucky hadn't really considered the possibility that the rest of Barton might be just as impressive.

"Which shirt should I wear?" Barton asked, holding up a long sleeved button down and a plain purple t-shirt, oblivious to Bucky's distraction.

Bucky tore his gaze away, getting his thoughts back under control. "Thought you were supposed to be deciding shit for yourself?"

Barton made a face you'd expect to see on a five year old. "This isn't...this is serious, Barnes! I don't know what to wear."

Bucky just raised his eyebrows and moved to get his shoes from beside the bed. When he looked back, Barton was still holding both shirts, studying them carefully. Bucky wanted to say that he was pretty sure Barton would look good in either one. He didn't.

"Yeah," Barton said after a minute. "Definitely going with the purple."

Bucky was just thrilled he was going to put on a shirt.

The club was loud. Apparently it was the place to go in Chicago and Barton had gotten Tony to get them put on the list. They made their way to the bar as soon as they walked in. Barton ordered shots and beers for both of them and Bucky downed them in hopes they would calm his twitching instincts. He focused on the way Barton was smiling and bobbing his head up and down to the beat.

The archer finished his beer quickly and then said, "I'm gonna dance. You coming?"

Bucky looked out over the crowd once and shook his head. He needed a few minutes to get used to this. He was surprised when Barton's hand settled on his arm and squeezed lightly.

"Just relax," Barton said. "Try to have fun."

Bucky nodded tersely and then pushed the archer gently towards the writhing mass of bodies that he supposed was the dance floor. Barton grinned at him and turned towards the dancers.

Bucky wasn't sure if it was a good thing or not that Barton stayed in his sight. On the one hand, it settled any nerves he would've had from a tactical standpoint if he lost sight of the other man. On the other, it meant he had a clear view to watch Barton dance.

He danced with everyone, girls and guys. It didn't matter. Whoever got close to him. And dear god, he could dance. He moved his body in ways that sent Bucky's mind straight to the gutter. His hips circled and shook in an absolutely perverse manner. Bucky was frozen in place, watching raptly. He didn't know the songs and he didn't care. And he also didn't particularly care that Barton clearly knew that Bucky was watching him.

Every so often, Barton would look over at him and grin wolfishly or wink. It seemed like maybe the archer was trying to entice him onto the dance floor but he was happy to just watch if it meant getting to see Barton sweaty and writhing.

Eventually, Barton caught on that what he was doing wasn't working. He made his way back to Bucky at the bar and ordered another beer. They drank in silence though their eyes kept finding their way back to each other. Bucky's tolerance was high, but not almost infinite like Steve's and he was just beginning to feel the effects of the many beers he had downed while watching Barton dance.

When he finished his beer, Barton turned to Bucky again, nodding toward the dance floor. "Do I have to go out there by myself again?"

He was standing close so that Bucky could hear him, and Bucky found himself leaning towards the other man. He swallowed thickly. Barton smelled like sweat and booze and it made Bucky's head dizzy with want.

"Don't know how," he said with a shrug.

Barton rolled his eyes. "Well, if that's your only excuse..."

He grabbed Bucky's hand and pulled him out among the close packed bodies. Bucky was too focused on Barton's hand in his to protest being taken to the dance floor.

Once they were far enough in, Barton turned to him, and with alcohol fueling him, Bucky copied what he'd watched other dancers do and reached out, pulling Barton's body up against his own. Barton looked kind of surprised, but grinned and started moving against him.

"Just follow my lead," Barton said in his ear.

Bucky lost himself in the feeling of Barton's body moving against his own. The heavy bass carried away any rational thought he might have had and the music pulsed through his veins along with the alcohol.

At some point, Clint turned around pressing his back to Bucky's front. Bucky wrapped his metal arm around Clint's waist and one of Clint's hands reached back, curving around the back of Bucky's neck. When Clint's head dropped back against his shoulder, Bucky ran his nose up the bared expanse of throat, only just in his head enough to stop himself from biting and sucking at the skin like he wanted to.

God, he felt like a horny teenager.  

Bucky wasn't sure how long they danced for or when exactly he started sensing that something was wrong. About the same time Clint did he supposed, because the archer straightened a bit right when he lifted his head and looked around. Bucky stiffened when he deciphered the murmur that was rising up around them. The word Hawkeye standing out even over the music.

The archer cursed impressively in several languages, grabbing Bucky's hand and dragging him off the dance floor. He didn't stop until they were out the doors and standing on the sidewalk outside. Most people hadn't comprehended what everyone was saying in time to stop them, and the few that might have stepped forward for a picture or autograph or something were deterred by Bucky's perfected glare.

"Fucking hate it when that happens," Clint spat while Bucky flagged down a cab. He wouldn't meet Bucky's eyes and Bucky could’ve fucking killed whoever had decided to point out that Hawkeye was in the club.

They got in the cab and Clint didn't say anything, just glared out the window as Bucky gave the driver the name of the hotel. Bucky was panicking a little bit. Things had gotten really...hot back in the club. He really hoped his one chance hadn't just been blown. If he even really had a chance. Clint was probably just letting off some steam and Bucky was there. It probably didn't mean anything. He had been dancing with everyone before Bucky finally went out on the floor. Bucky had just been another warm body. He turned and watched the city pass outside his window.

Barton jumped in the shower when they got back to the hotel. Bucky just changed and slipped under the blankets on his bed. He wanted a cigarette. But more than that he wanted to sleep and forget that he had let himself get distracted like that. And even more than that he wanted to not have to be painfully aware of Barton ignoring him anymore.

He rolled over in his side and fell asleep. His body’s trained ability to sleep on command more convenient than ever.

In the middle of the night, he woke up, gasping for breath and sweating from a nnightmare He rolled onto his back and found Barton sleeping on the other half of his bed. Barton's own bed empty. He was surprised to say the least. His fingers itched to reach out and pull the sleeping man against him like in the club.

Instead he rolled over and went back to sleep.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Woohoo! Now that I have my computer up and running again, I can start posting again! Sorry for the wait, guys.  
> This chapter is really just filler to develop their issues a little more. Getting into the angsty bits. It was also the hardest for me to write so far, for some reason.

When he woke up the next morning, Barton was brewing a pot of coffee in their suite's kitchenette. He looked absolutely wrecked and he didn't say anything about what had happened at the club or why he ended up in Bucky's bed. Bucky didn't ask. He got in the shower without a word.

When he came out, Barton looked a little more put together and he said, "We should get on the road."

Bucky's curiosity spiked over his embarrassment and frustration. "Where are we going?"

He had suspected from the beginning that Barton had a destination in mind even if he wouldn't admit it. He hadn't really cared where they were going so he didn't bother to pry. But this was the closest Barton had gotten to admitting they were going somewhere. If Bucky was Natasha, he probably could’ve deduced everything he needed to know from that one sentence, but he was more assassin than spy, needed more for muscle than brain. The subtleties of Barton’s mind, therefore, escaped him.

Barton didn't answer the question, just fixed a blank stare on Bucky and dropped his mug in the sink before moving to pack up his stuff. Bucky would be lying if he said that he wasn't disappointed. He thought Barton and he were becoming friends, if nothing else. But after last night they seemed to have regressed past the level of indifference from before they left New York.

It was raining when they left. Big drops of rain plopping on the windshield in quick succession. It fit the mood in the car, Bucky thought sadly. There seemed to be no end to the gloomy clouds in the sky no matter how long they drove.

After about an hour, Bucky, who usually preferred silence to constant chatter, was getting desperate for Barton to say something. _Anything_. But the farther east they drove, the darker Barton’s mood seemed to get and it was setting Bucky’s nerves on edge. He hated seeing Barton like this, though he had no idea what prompted it.

Bucky took a deep breath and asked, “Fiction or nonfiction?”

Barton looked at him in surprise, almost as if he had forgotten Bucky was there at all. He bit his lip and looked back at the road. His chest rose and fell a few times in steady, purposeful breaths before he said in a quiet voice, “Fiction, usually.”

“Me, too,” Bucky responded just as quietly. He wasn’t even sure if the questions would help whatever was taking over Barton’s brain. It had helped the day before, but there seemed to be something different about today’s quiet. Something that Bucky could tell wasn’t connected to the nightmare he had in Ohio. On the way to Chicago, Barton had seemed not entirely _there_. Like he was outside of his brain. Now he seemed almost too much so in his own brain. Thinking too much, too hard.

After a few more minutes of silence, Barton sighed. “Lady Gaga or Nicki Minaj?”

Bucky blinked. “Are those people? I don’t know those people.”

Barton scoffed in disbelief, though it was half-hearted. “That is a travesty. We need to fix it.”

They set a rhythm of asking questions back and forth just like they had done the day before, and for a while Barton seemed to recover from his funk a bit. Bucky sighed in relief, thinking things were going to get better again.

All of that came to a grinding halt just inside the Iowa state line. It started small. Barton would take a while to answer one of Bucky’s questions because he was too busy scanning the countryside for something. Almost like he was expecting something to pop out at him. A deep scowl started creeping over his face. It looked incredibly foreign. The laugh lines that had dug their way into his skin were being distorted into weird angles. Bucky disliked Barton scowling even more than he disliked Barton blank faced.

But after a while—after Barton had completely stopped responding to Bucky once again—Bucky began to see something familiar in Barton’s eyes.

Panic.

The archer’s hands were tight on the wheel, the muscles in his forearms standing out as his fists clenched. His breathing was shallow and his eyes were wide.

“Barton?” Bucky reached out and touched Barton’s shoulder, but pulled away when the man flinched violently. “What’s wrong? What’s going on?”

“Nothing,” Barton said, but it was unconvincing based on the way his voice wavered and his hands squeezed the wheel even tighter.

“Bullshit,” Bucky spat. “Tell me how to help.”

Barton shook his head and the wheel jerked with the movement.

“At least let me drive before you run us off the fucking road,” Bucky yelled. Barton’s panic was about to send him spiraling into a panic attack of his own.

Barton looked at the wheel, then at the grassy median, he had almost driven into a moment before, then at the cars going the other direction. He took a deep breath and in a swift movement, turned the wheel all the way around, sending the car careening into the lanes on the other side of the highway.

“What the fuck are you doing?” Bucky cried, gripping tightly to the dashboard and the handle above his head.

Cars all around them honked and swerved as Barton settled into the lane. The water that had gathered on the road sprayed out along with the tires skidding over the pavement. Bucky’s heart was pounding and he was just staring at Barton in shock. Something had seriously gotten into the man and he had no idea what it was.

Barton kept looking in the rearview mirror like someone was chasing them. But he had visibly relaxed all the same increasing Bucky’s feeling of having no idea what the fuck was going on. Something had triggered the archer and turning around had made it better.

Barton didn’t say anything as he drove. He took the turn off they had passed a few miles before to Kansas City and turned the radio back on, singing along like nothing out of the ordinary had occurred. As much as Bucky wanted to push the issue and find out what exactly had caused Barton’s panic attack, he felt like it might be too soon. Now that it had passed, he was just focused on making sure it didn’t come back.  

The closer they got to Kansas City, the more Barton’s mood improved. He started talking again, telling Bucky about the last time he’d been in Kansas City with his ex-wife to take down a Russian sleeper cell. How they’d spent their first (and only anniversary) staking out one of the families and Bobbi had yelled at him for not even remembering that it was their anniversary. Bucky just nodded along and let Barton dominate the conversation, worried that he’d say or do something to trigger the archer again.

They checked into a hotel downtown and then walked around a bit, found a restaurant and ate, all perfectly normal. As if nothing had happened. Honestly, Barton pretending everything was fine was setting Bucky on edge.

He was dangerously close to screaming at the man to just explain himself already. He kept looking for some tell-tale twitch to prove that Barton wasn’t okay, but if it was there, Bucky couldn’t find it.

When they got back to the hotel, Barton went to his bag without a word and pulled some things out before heading to the bathroom. Bucky pulled out his phone and turned it on again for the first time since the motel in Ohio.

He had about ten texts from Steve wanting to know where they were and how they were doing. He had one from Tony suggesting a 1920s themed strip club in Chicago that he thought Bucky might like with a couple of winky faces. And, surprisingly, he had one from Natasha not so subtly hinting that Barton’s state of mind might not be super stable at the moment.

Turns out, Bucky had been able to determine that all on his own.

He didn’t get a chance to reply to any of the texts because Barton came out of the bathroom dressed in full tactical gear and opened the case to his bow, running his fingers over it to make sure everything was in place.

“What are you doing?” Bucky asked, a little alarmed.

Barton grinned. “Lookin’ to get into a little trouble. You comin’?”

 Bucky considered arguing. Maybe he could tempt the archer into staying in and watching a movie. Whatever Barton’s problem was, Bucky was pretty sure it wouldn’t be solved by beating up some random criminal in Kansas City. But then he caught the cold glint in Barton’s eye.

There was the twitch, the sign he’d been waiting for. The proof that whatever had happened in the car hadn’t just disappeared. It was also proof that Bucky wouldn’t be able to stop Barton from going out there and looking for someone to beat up.

He didn’t have any of his gear with him beyond the knife hidden in his boot and the other knife hidden in his jacket sleeve and the other one strapped to his torso, so he took the gun Barton offered him and tucked it into the waist of his pants, resolving to leave it there all night. He was only going to make sure Barton didn’t get himself hurt or arrested or something.

They took the stairs down and exited through a service entrance. It was pretty late already, so there wasn’t much movement in the hotel at all. They walked for a couple of blocks, sharing a cigarette along the way, and Bucky started wondering how high the crime rates even were in Kansas City anyway. Didn’t seem like the type of place where much of anything happened.

If you didn’t count Russian sleeper cells, anyway.

Barton was practically vibrating with adrenaline next to him but his hands were steady where he held the bow. At least the rain had stopped, even though it was still overcast and gloomy with a distinct wintery chill in the air.

It took almost an hour, and Bucky was about to suggest they give up on their little patrol, when they finally came across some bad guys. A couple of low-class muggers had trapped a girl in an alleyway. One was rifling through her purse while the other held her up against the wall, leering and teasing her in a way that made Bucky’s skin crawl.

“Someone needs to teach you how to treat a lady,” Barton said, an arrow pointed at the mugger holding onto the girl.

The mugger looked over in surprise, then laughed. “Look at this guy, Fletch. Thinks he’s Hawkguy or something.”

In the blink of an eye, Barton adjusted and let the arrow fly. It whistled through the air, striking the girl’s bag so it went flying from the second attacker’s hand.

“Hey!” The girl and the attacker cried at the same time.

“It’s Hawk _eye_ ,” Barton said. “And I ain’t pretending.”

“I suggest you let the lady go,” Bucky spoke up. He wanted this to be over. Maybe if they got these punks to leave, Barton would be satisfied.

The first mugger’s lip curled. “Get rid of ‘em, Fletch.”

The one called Fletch reached into his jacket and tugged. All Bucky saw was the handle of the gun before he was on the guy. He snapped the mugger’s wrist with his metal hand, making him drop the gun. The movements were as natural as breathing as he brought the mugger down and curled his arm around the guy’s neck.

“Bucky!”

His head snapped up. Barton was staring at him, wide-eyed with his bow lowered at his side. Bucky’s eyes flicked to the girl still standing against the wall in shock even though the other mugger was hastily making his escape down the alley. She looked terrified.

Bucky forgot how to breathe. He released his grip on the mugger all at once like he was getting burnt from touching the guy. The mugger took off immediately after his friend, even as he choked air back into his lungs.

“Get your bag and go home,” He heard Barton tell the girl before taking a few cautious steps towards Bucky.

Bucky was shaking. He had almost killed that guy. He had almost killed the guy and not even thought twice about it. To his shock, his eyes filled with hot tears.

He turned on his heel and headed out of the alley. When he passed, Barton held a hand out and said, “Buck, wait. I’m sorry. I didn’t…I wouldn’t’ve…”

Bucky ignored him, turning in the direction of the hotel. Barton’s steps sounded loud on the concrete in the now quiet night as he jogged to catch up. He was still talking, but Bucky didn’t register anything he said. He didn’t try to stop Bucky either, just followed along babbling his apologies.

They got back to the hotel and Bucky got in the shower, needing to get away from Barton for a while. He just stood under the warm spray, still blinking back tears and reliving the moment in the alley. Maybe it had only been a few months, but he thought he had been making progress. He thought he had progressed past the mindless killer.

But that side of himself had just been lurking, waiting for its chance to take control again.

Finally, he shut the water off and got out. He wanted to crawl into the bed and sleep for days, which his SHIELD therapist had told him was a sign of depression. The problem was he didn’t really care that it was a sign of depression. It didn’t change what he wanted in that moment and it would make the world a safer place anyway.

The archer was sitting on one of the beds, fiddling with one of his arrows when Bucky came out. He had changed out of his tac gear in favor of a pair of sweats and loose t-shirt.

Bucky sat down on the edge of his bed and Barton stilled.

“I don’t want to be him anymore,” Bucky started after a moment. He definitely hadn’t planned on talking about it, but for some reason, he had always felt the most at ease around Barton. It was that lingering feeling that Barton understood what he was saying in a way that no one else did, not even his therapist or Steve. “The programming may be broken, but it’s still there. The instincts are still there. I could’ve just…done it. Without even a second thought.”

“You’re not him. You’ve been doing really well, Buck,” Clint insisted immediately. He set the arrow down on the bedside table and padded over to Bucky’s bed, sitting down next to him. “It’s my fault we were out there. There’s a reason I got benched by SHIELD and I shouldn’t’ve dragged you into my shit.”

Bucky shook his head. He had never felt so low in all his ninety years. Or at least the parts of it he could remember. “Not sure I’m ever going to be able to shake it.”

Barton took a few purposefully even breaths before saying, “If it helps, I know what you mean.”

A sad smile turned up the sides of Bucky’s mouth. “It doesn’t help, really.”

Huffing just a bit with laughter, Barton reached up and curved his hand around the back of Bucky’s head, pulling just a bit so Bucky leaned into his body.

They slept in the same bed again that night. Bucky didn’t even question it when Barton slipped under the covers next to him. And he didn’t question it when Barton scooted closer, just curled up against his chest and drew an extra bit of warmth from the other man’s body heat.

Maybe he had lied. Maybe knowing he wasn’t the only dealing with shit did help a little bit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's a pretty obvious clue as to Clint's intended destination in this chapter. Can you guess?  
> Though keep in mind that I mentioned when I put up the first chapter (forever ago) that I said I was playing with his backstory a little bit.  
> In other news, I'm on [tumblr](http://awrites.tumblr.com/) now! Follow me, I'm so lonely.


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